


A Glimpse

by rainydayadvocate



Category: White Collar
Genre: Epilogue, F/M, Gen, London, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-15
Updated: 2019-02-15
Packaged: 2019-10-28 20:05:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17793887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainydayadvocate/pseuds/rainydayadvocate
Summary: When Peter is asked to consult on an Interpol case that could take him to London, he can't pass up the opportunity to mine Sterling-Bosch's best investigator for information on her former love interest. While Peter hopes for a chance to hear from Neal, he knows he knows better than to expect anything.





	A Glimpse

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ultra](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ultra/gifts).



> I actually put off watching the White Collar finale until recently, because I couldn't stand the idea of letting Neal and Peter go. Ever since I finally watched it this year, I haven't been able to stop wondering what's next. I hope this touches on a few of your desires while still leaving it plenty open. Enjoy!

Peter sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the case file he shouldn’t have brought home. His thumb rubbed across the edge of the page. A string of robberies, suspected to be the same criminal, taking small pieces from museums in London, Paris, and New York. Technically, the case was Interpol’s, but Peter, still the Bureau’s expert in white collar thieves and conmen, had been asked to consult.

Elle joined him, running a hand over his shoulder blades. “You’ve been staring at that for so long it’s almost like you’re expecting Neal to pop out of it.”

Peter laughed and shook his head. “It’s not Neal’s style.”

“Then why can’t you take your eyes off of it? You didn’t even notice his namesake sneak past you. He found your shaving cream again.”

Peter turned to her. “He didn’t get by me, did he?” Elle shrugged and a second later, in walked three-year-old Neal, a pile of shaving cream on his head and down his arms, clearly proud of himself. “Okay, so maybe I am a little preoccupied considering this case.”

Elle herded Neal into the bathroom doorway, where she started to wipe the shaving cream off with a towel. “What’s eating at you about this file? Interpol asks for your opinion all the time.”

“Sterling-Bosch’s London office is handling most of the claims.”

Elle paused her wiping to look back at him. Instinctively, she reached a hand out to stop Neal from reaching the shaving cream again. “Sara.”

Peter nodded. “Sara.”

“And you think she may be in contact with him?”

Peter shook his head and stood, closing up the portfolio while he paced the perimeter of the bed. “I don’t know. But I feel like I should find out.”

“We,” Elle corrected. Mostly clean, she let Neal free, but not before moving the shaving cream to the highest shelf in the medicine cabinet. After the defeated con artist sulked from the room, she straightened Peter’s collar and kissed him. “You forgot our anniversary, again, so I think you make up for it with a trip to London.”

“What about Neal? Who do we leave him with? We couldn’t let Mozzie take him … could we?”

Elle raised an eyebrow. “You think Mozzie is going to let us go London to talk to Sara without him? Peter.”

Peter sighed and leaned his head back. “You’re right. If we tried it, we’d be followed by a man and a toddler in trenchcoats and moustaches.”

***

London was not the first Burke family vacation that had included Mozzie, but it was the first international expedition as a party of four. Neal ate up every lie and conspiracy theory Mozzie told him, which were many with a new city and new country to discuss. The easiest theory to swallow was that Queen Elizabeth is one of three triplets, and she and her other two identical siblings rotate being queen.

As payback for the endless stories and tall tales, Peter arranged to meet Sara at Saint Aymes, a café that probably exists purely for Instagrammers. Garlands of flowers dangled around the doorway and windows, and even more hung from the ceiling inside. Mozzie sat against a wall of peonies while Neal sat next to him trying to drink an entire blue milkshake. The whipped cream was had fallen off and landed on his shirt. “I hate you, Suit,” Mozzie said as he folded his arms.

“You’re welcome, Moz,” Peter replied.

Sara arrived, ordered a mug of coffee before, and then made her rounds to greet everyone. Neal was last. “I’m not sure I was aware that was a youngest Burke. Hi there, I’m Sara Ellis.”

Neal held out a hand dripping in blue stickiness. “I’m Neal.”

“You’re—” Sara looked back to Peter and Elizabeth. “Really?”

Peter shrugged. “We’re sentimental. What can I say?”

Sara smiled and did not accept the toddler’s hand. Instead, she patted him on the head. “Well, I’m glad to meet you, Neal. I hope you keep an eye on Mozzie.”

Neal nodded enthusiastically. “All the time!”

“I would say it’s more vice versa…” Mozzie defended. He leaned back, forgetting about the flower wall behind him, and immediately sitting forward again with a shiver.

Sara grinned and motioned to an open table in the front corner. “I hate to do this, but Peter, can we talk privately?”

Peter nodded and followed her to the other table. They both sipped their coffee before cracking open the file. “Do you have any leads on this guy, Sara? I don’t recognize the work.”

She shook her head. “He’s new, whoever he is, and he’s good. We’ve compiled a list of the items he’s taking. They’re all small, and all insured well beyond their estimated worth.” She passed him a list of the items with corresponding insurance plans and estimated values.

Peter looked over the list, squinted at the differences in the numbers. “Sentimental attachment, all on loan to the museums?”

“Bingo. But there has to be more to the story. It’s the museum that is reporting the thefts, of course, but the owners have thus far not gotten involved in any way.”

“What?”

“Yeah. Look here.” Sara passed him another list, this one with the owners or benefactors of the stolen pieces. Peter only recognized a couple of the names; the others were a nobodies in the art trade. “I would assume most of these people would take the loss of their family heirlooms hard, but they haven’t. I’ve interviewed half of them and they don’t seem to be bothered that it’s gone missing.”

Peter put the pages down on the table and rubbed the back of his neck. “Why would people, who chose to over-insure their items, not be upset that they went missing? Unless... they cared more about the payout than they did the item.”

Sara nodded. “That’s the only guess we have. But since no one is clamoring for the insurance money, we haven’t be able to track any motive yet. The thief, the motive, and the owners’ behavior are all a mystery.”

Peter finished off his coffee. It was a little sweet for his taste, but it had been a while since he’d had anything beyond Bureau sludge. He had to admit, it was a welcome change. “I haven’t seen anything this good is a long time.”

“Not since you lost your partner?”

Peter half-smiled. After a pause, he met her gaze. “How is he?”

Sara tilted her head and hid behind her coffee mug. “How is who?”

Peter grinned. “I’m glad he’s doing well.”

“I really have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“If I pulled your bank account records, would I find frequent Eurostar purchases on it?”

“I don’t see what my travels to Paris would have to do with what we’re not talking about.” But she smiled.

Peter returned the smile and closed up the portfolio. “Thank you for this. I have a meeting with Interpol tomorrow. Hopefully we can put enough pieces together to give them a lead.”

“Good luck, Peter. I’m available if you or the international team need me.”

“Thanks, Sara. It’s always great to see you.”

They were about to shake hands when Elizabeth gasped from the other side of the room. “Oh for heaven’s sake, where’s Neal? Mozzie?”

Mozzie shrugged. “He was right here. I looked away for two seconds to rage-rate this place on Yelp.”

“Neal?” Elle’s voice quickly rose to motherly panic. “Neal? Peter, where—?”

Peter put his hands up, half to surrender and half to relax his wife. “I’ll look out front. You check out the back door.” She nodded and ran towards the back. Sara and Mozzie both checked under tables and behind the counter.

Peter walked out onto the street. It was quiet, only a few cars and passers-by. The sun shone from the partly cloudy sky, bringing with it a warm spring day. Near the corner across the street, Peter saw Neal talking to a man who was crouched at his eye level. “Neal!”

Peter ran across the road to his son. The man had a wet wipe out, cleaning the milkshake from Neal’s hands. “Are you ready to see it again?” he asked. Neal nodded enthusiastically.

“Okay. In my hand is a one pound coin. Do you see the nice lady in the crown on the front? Good.” The man closed his fist around the coin. “Blow on it.” Neal did so, leaning in close, blowing with all his might. When the man opened his hand, there was no coin.

Neal gasped and jumped. “Where did it go, where did it go?”

“Well…” The man reached up behind Neal’s ear and pulled away a quarter. “I’m afraid she lost a little bit of her value and turned into a man, but at least it became a coin you can use when you get home, right?” He dropped the quarter into Neal’s hand and closed his small fist around it. “Keep that quarter safe, okay?”

Neal nodded enthusiastically. “I will.”

“Good.” The man stood, readjusting his fedora as he turned to Peter. His face didn’t even flinch in recognition, but he couldn’t hide it in his eyes. “I assume this is your son?”

“Yes, he is. His name’s Neal.”

The man’s façade weakened and his shoulders relaxed. “You are so sentimental sometimes.”

“Look who’s talking.”

Neal’s namesake leaned forward, close enough to whisper. “Tell Interpol to investigate one Geoffrey Saines, and the Suckling Pear Company.”

Peter met Neal’s gaze, those overly blue eyes, and nodded a little. “I’ll do that.”

“Very good.” And the façade was back up, becoming whoever it was that Neal Caffrey had chosen to be. “I’m glad I was able to keep your son occupied long enough for you to find him. Might want to keep a close eye on him.”

“I’ve considered fitting him with a tracking anklet.”

But Neal didn’t break character again. He simply tipped his hat and disappeared around the corner.


End file.
